twenty-six

Gato’s eyes opened and it took a moment for him to realize where he was. In a warehouse, the ceiling three tall stories above. He was on a bed, the area cordoned off by wheeled bookcases and curtains batik’d in all sorts of crazy patterns. The bed he lay on was low but more comfortable than any bed he could remember from the recent past. Had the vague memory of knowing this bed. He tried to move but he was sore from head to foot. Insides felt like they’d been cramped up for days. His entire face was numb, and the parts that weren’t numb were in intense pain. His jaw could barely move. There was a pitcher of water and a glass on the dark wood table next to the bed. He sat up, slowly, trying to be careful. Even that nearly sent him back into oblivion. He had to sit and stare at the water for a moment, almost wishing it would just rise up and come to him, but of course it wouldn’t. In the end he didn’t do anything but lie back on the bed. That burned him. Burned him deep. Nothing had ever kept him so weak, so completely thrashed out. Nothing but back when … .

… . then it all came flooding back. Lupe. Her baby. Mike. The junk. Being beaten like a dog. His blood boiled. How the fuck could that have happened? How could he be taken so easily?

It was all he could do to not let the hot tears that boiled in his soul roll down his cheeks.

At that moment, Ali pushed aside the curtain and walked into what he now remembered was her bedroom. He’d only been here once. Only once. Back when both her brothers had been in trouble. He’d come to warn her. She’d asked him to stay. And he’d stayed. Ever since then he’d wanted to be here, back where he’d first met her. She was going to be his wife, he thought at the time. But now? Now that thought felt like a teenager’s stupid wet dream. That dream had been shoved in his face like shoving a dog’s nose in its own shit. That dream was now shelved. The world he was now walking in wasn’t meant for kid’s dreams. This world was too real, too dark.

Too mean.

“So,” she said as she gave him the once over, “my little cat seems to be awake.”

“Yo creo que sí.”

She came and sat on the edge of the bed. Studied him carefully. Like she really cared if he were okay or not. “My mother took a long chance bringing you here. You must’ve struck a chord in her.”

He tried to sit up and finally did, putting his back against the wood of the bed frame. There was a faint memory. “She did tell me she wished she’d had more sons like me than the ones she’d had.”

Ali smiled, but there was a lot of sadness there. “That sounds like her, alright.” She checked the bandage that he only now realized he carried wound tight around his midsection. Broken rib. Or Ribs. This was definitely part of the discomfort he’d felt since he woke up. Touched the area gently, probing, but Ali pushed his hand away. “They broke the two lower on the left. Cracked a floating rib. Painful, but you’ll live.”

There was a feeling there inside him then. A desire that made his chest tight and his ribs hurt. It was the desire to shoot. To shoot Mike and all his gang. “How long was I out?” he asked quickly.

“A long time. Long enough, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m surprised you have any liquid in you at all.” She reached over and handed him a quart bottle of water. “Drink it,” she said as she got up. “I’ll see if I can find you something you can hold on your stomach. From what mama told me, you haven’t eaten in some days, vato.”

He opened the water bottle. Drank and drank and drank. Didn’t realize how dehydrated he was until he drank. After a moment he stopped. Put the top back on the bottle. Told Ali quietly, unable to look at her, “I owe you and Mama Lobo my life.”

Ali smiled then, “You know it, Gato. Don’t you know it?”

Then he thought of his friend. Of Mallen. His brother always seemed to find trouble. O problema encontrado. He had to call Mallen. “You have a phone I could use until I get my own?”

“No,” Ali replied, “but I have a phone you can use to make a call, or calls, while you’re here. I’m not some cheap-ass liquor store, gatito.”

“Hell no, you’re not,” he said. She went to a drawer. Pulled out a phone and tossed it to him. Just some random smartphone. He booted it up and wasn’t surprised to see it was completely anonymous. As anonymous as any phone could be these days. Registered to a fake person, and only seemed to be flying on local wifi networks. An extra battery was taped to the back, for emergencies. The phone was a fantasma. Somebody might be able to pick it up, but they would have a fuck-all load of shit trying to track it.

He dialed Mallen’s number, the number he now knew so well.

But a voice answered he didn’t know, and the anxiety of that worked to bring him around some more. Helped to make him more present.

“Yeah?” said the gruff, gravelly voice.

“This phone belongs to my hombre. Why isn’t he answering?”

“And who are you?”

“You first, fucker. I need to know where Mallen is.”

Silence, then after a moment, “I run the dock where he lives. He’s at the hospital getting stitched up.”

Gato’s hand tightened on the phone. “What happened? Tell me.”

A gravely laugh. “Hey man, not until you tell me who the fuck you are.”

“My name is Gato. Mallen would vouch for me, if he could, hombre.”

“Gato,” the man intoned, “Yeah, he mentioned you. This is Gregor.”

“The guy with the truck?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

“Man, what the fuck has happened to him?” Gregor gave him a rundown of the scene at Mallen’s place. Gato’s answer was a string of Spanish swearing. Took him a minute to calm down enough to ask, “Where was he taken? Do you know?”

“Marin General. That woman cop he knows, the redhead, wanted to take him to the city, but he wanted to stay north of the bridge.”

Gato figured it out. There was something unsafe for the moment about San Francisco hospitals. “Look,” he said, “I’m laid up, but I will be out there, will be out there as fast as I can. How long do you think he’ll be in the hospital?”

“Well,” Mr. Gregor said slowly, “if it were anyone else? I’d say a couple days. Mallen? Based on what I’ve seen? Be home before the sun rises.”

Gato nodded. Yes, that sounded right. “Okay. Gracias. Gracias, señor Gregor.”

–––––

It had taken Mallen longer to get home than he’d figured. Finding a cab in the city in the early morning hours was nothing, but finding one in the early morning north of the Golden Gate? That was something else entirely. The cab drove off but he stood still, watching the vehicle disappear into the darkness, tail lights a red haze. Didn’t move until he’d looked up and down the parking lot. There didn’t seem to be any cars he didn’t recognize. Sighed a bit in relief, and only then did he stalk down the dock toward his home. Once inside he immediately went into the bathroom and set about checking his bandage. Still good. Made it upstairs to his office. To the file cabinet. Pulled the spare handgun out of the top drawer. The Uzi was still in the truck as was the other handgun he took from Karachi’s place. At least he had something on him now. Made his way downstairs, intent on eating something before figuring out his next move.

Then he heard it. A noise coming from just outside, out on the deck. Shit, he was so beat up and tired how the fuck was he going be able to do anything? Couldn’t even hunker down behind anything, his body hurt so much. He knew if he hunkered down, he’d never be able to get up. The gun was still in his hand. Aimed for the door, pulling back the hammer. Seemed as loud as hammering down a railroad tie. All he could do was shuffle to the corner of the kitchen, gun trained on the front door. He heard someone come forward from the deck and check the front door knob. Certainly wasn’t making any effort to be quiet.

Then a voice spoke from the other side of the door. “Mallen. Soy yo, el hombre, Gato.”

And Mallen could never remember being so relieved. “Ah, shit, G!” he called out as he went toward the front door, “Get the fuck in here my brother.”

Gato entered the room. Jesus fucking Christ, Mallen thought as he looked at his friend, at the man who’d saved his life more than once. He’d never seen Gato so beat to shit, both on the inside and out. Mallen noticed, too, that there was some difference around the man’s eyes, and it was more than just the fading bruises. No, he could tell right away that something heavy, bad, and dark, had gone down. As if to verify Mallen’s feelings, Gato wore black pants and shirt, the shirt’s sleeves rolled up just to the forearm. Not the usual white wife beater. It seemed insane, but if he didn’t know better, Mallen would say his friend was recovering from a bout with the needle. But no, man … . that was insanity. Not Gato. Not G.

The two men continued to look at each other for a moment, then Gato smiled faintly. “Looks like we both were taken to Hell and back, vato.”

“And then some,” he said as he moved to the couch and let himself down onto it. Never felt so good to sit. “Where you been?”

But Gato only shook his head as he stood there. “Not anywhere that was good.”

“You didn’t find Lupe?”

“Oh yeah, man. I found her.” He gave Mallen a brief rundown on everything. Lupe’s being pregnant. Mike. Being held prisoner. Then he walked over to Mallen. Looked ashamed he raised the sleeve of his right arm. The dark pinprick scabs showed clear, even in the low light from the table lamp across the room.

Gato looked away as he put his sleeve down. “They got me, vato. I have to fuck their shit up, man. Somehow, some way … I have to make them pay for it all.”

“Where was Lupe when you last saw her?”

“With that Mike cat. I think she’s safe as long as she’s pregnant.”

Mallen considered this. “So how much time do you think you have, G?”

“Hell, man, what do I look like? A midwife? I have no goddamn idea when she’ll dar a luz.” He took a deep breath then. Relaxed. “I think a few months.”

“And you’re sure he’s going to kill her once the baby is born?”

A nod. Mallen had never seen his friend look so sad. “Mama Lobo told me to stay out of Vegas. No matter what. She’s going to take a rash of shit for helping me, but she was willing to do that.”

“Why?” Mallen’d heard stories about Mamma Lobo, but nothing that would lead him to believe she would’ve done what she did. He couldn’t understand why she’d put herself out like this.

“Well,” Gato replied, “it was more for Ali, bro. Not for me. For her.”

“Ah. Well, thank God for crushing out on the right people, yeah?”

Now there was a faint smile there. Then his friend turned all business. “Primero lo primero, vato. I called your phone and got your truck-man. What the fuck is going on, Mallen?”

Then it was Mallen’s turn to give Gato a quick recap. As he told his friend about what he was into, he’d kept talking as he moved to his bedroom and switched clothes. Came out into the living room, dressed in a dark car coat, sweater, and black jeans. Carried some bandages with him that he shoved into the pocket of his coat. Put the gun in the other pocket. “We need to go see Gregor, fast-like. He helped me out and I don’t want to put him in danger. He’s been a huge savior, a couple times over now.”

“Then let’s do it, man,” came the simple reply.

They left Mallen’s home and went quickly down the dock. “You have some metal on you, yeah?” Mallen asked.

“Fuck yeah I do,” came the response. “And spare grain for her, too.”

“Good.” Mallen didn’t worry about waking Gregor. From what he’d seen, the man was probably up wondering what had happened since the hospital.

As he walked up the dock with Gato in tow, he kept his head on a swivel. Until he could figure out about Gwen, he was over putting his trust in people. Especially those with badges. The only cop he could ever trust a hundred percent had always been Oberon.

There were lights on in Gregor’s place, the upstairs lit up like a church on Sunday. Mallen knocked at the door. Waited. After a moment it opened and there was Gregor, Steelers cap on his head, old Hawaiian shirt on, along with the usual khaki army shorts. Smiled when he saw Mallen. Glanced at Gato. “I told your friend there you’d be home by morning.”

“Can’t keep a good recovering junkie down, or so it would seem, sir.”

Gregor stepped back to let them in. Mallen had never been inside the place, and he was struck immediately by how it reminded him of Quint’s house in Jaws, minus all the shark skeletons. “You two don’t look like you could make it upstairs, but you’ll have to,” Gregor told them.

Mallen and Gato followed the grizzled old vet. Upstairs was nothing but one, long open area. Like a half-finished attic. No two windows were alike. Mallen could swear the mosaic glass windows that served as skylights were taken from an actual church. Gregor led them over to a huge worktable, covered in papers. There were maps there, of the bay currents. Also larger maps showing every walking and riding trail from the Golden Gate all the way up to Mendocino. Many of them had a penciled set of numbers at the point where the path started.

Mallen pointed to one set of numbers. “How long it took you to walk that trail?”

Gregor shook his head. “How long it took me to walk it with a full kit on my back. Keeps me in shape.”

Gato shook his head. Looked at Mr. Gregor. “You’re someone I could learn from, sir.” Mallen had never heard his friend sound so reverential.

But the old man only shrugged. “You already know what you need to know. It’s just how you go about putting it into play.” Gregor then led them to his desk, an old architect’s table. On the surface was the codebook that Mallen had given him, along with the flash drive. The flash drive hadn’t been touched, but the codebook sat in a wash of notes and scribbled paper.

“Nobody saw you give this to me,” Gregor told them, “but I could swear that red-headed cop gave the eye of suspicion as I vacated. I don’t know how long I can keep this safe, if I’m right.”

“I can take it with me when I leave,” Mallen said.

“Well, after what I tell ya,” Gregor responded with a grin, “you might not want to take it away from me.”

“What do you mean?” Mallen looked over all the notes. “You mean you cracked the fucking code? Already?”

“What one man can create, another bastard can figure out,” Gregor smiled with a grim smile. “Whoever did this had a military background. If I didn’t know better I’d say he served in Vietnam like me. Or, he’d at least read about the codes we used back then. It’s damn close to what we used back in ’68.”

“You can place it that far back, sir?” Gato asked. Again, Mallen was surprised about how reverential his friend was being.

“Sure. Code is a part of war, just like forgiving is a part of marriage. All our communications were picked up all the time by the other side. We needed a way to get messages to each other. A lot of us didn’t have radios. The radio guys were usually getting blown to fuck, the radios along with them. So … . the grunts began to develop a coded system that only them and their captains would know. It grew, became more … refined for lack of a better fucking word. Spread, until most of us were using it.” Nodded at the codebook in front of him. “Whoever wrote that code somehow, somehow, knew about that code we developed. Maybe they were there, or their father was. But it was one, or the other.”

“Some guy could’ve stumbled upon a book in an old store somewhere,” Mallen said, thinking of Blackmore and Lucas. “A pawnshop or something, yeah?”

“Well, sure. But the fucker who found that book would need the key, or have a code-breaking background. If it’s NOT the real thing, it’s based off the real thing.”

Mallen glanced over the notes and scribbles again. “What have you gotten from it?”

Gregor sighed. Shook his head. “It’s not pretty.” Spread out the papers in front of him, covered over and over with code variations and possible solutions, most everything scratched out. However, there was one page that Gregor showed them. “Consider this fucker the Rosetta stone. Everything started to fall together after I nailed this baby.”

Mallen and Gato stared at the page, totally lost. Every letter seemed to have a random letter underneath it but underneath that was a word. Same for the digits. There were digits underneath the original digits. Those seemed to make anything from dates to weights to lengths. Light weights. Short lengths.

“It’s a catalog of sorts,” Gregor said quietly. “You know what of, don’t you, Mallen?”

Mallen could only nod. “Yeah, I do.”

“How … what about the code?” Gato said quietly. “How’d you break it, sir?”

Gregor shrugged. “I used to know shit like this. Once I got a handle on it, it came to me. Every letter on the page is actually five letters back. Unless it’s a vowel, then it’s five letters forward, unless it’s at the beginning of a word, or at the end, and then … ” He caught himself. Smiled. “Hell, who gives a fuck, right? We broke it and that’s all that matters. I just do what those above my pay grade tell me to do.”

“I’m so not above your pay grade,” Mallen said.

“You think I’d let just any old numb nuts drive off in my truck? You got another thing comin’. ”

Mallen smiled at that. Winced with the pain of doing so. Gregor looked at both of them. “The other side better look a fuckin’ lot worse. If not, it’s time they did.”

“Palabras más verdaderas nunca fueron habladas,” Gato responded.

“Got that right,” Gregor said as he sat down on an old stool and proceeded to go over the book with them. “It’s a catalog of children.”

“Children porn?” Gato spat out. “Madre de Dios.”

“No, not that, G,” Mallen said to him, a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Right, Mr. Gregor?”

“Right, Captain,” Gregor responded. “It’s a catalog of children, but I’m almost positive not for porn. For sale. The words that are used. It’s like buying a car.”

“That jibes with everything I know about this so far,” Mallen replied.

Gato just shook his head. “Vato, can’t you ever stumble upon a group of illegal bunnies, or some such shit. Jesus.”

Gregor laughed, then pointed to one page in particular. “This is the page for the last few ‘transactions.’ Was put at the back of the book. There was a secondary layer to the code here. Not that hard to figure out once I’d cracked the main code. The enemy really underestimated who they might come up against. Or, well, maybe they just got fucking lazy.”

“Did you find anything about the transactions?” Mallen said. “The exchange of money for a kid?”

“What do you think they pay with? Jellybeans? Now see? This one?” He pointed to the second to last entry on a page. “This one shows height and weight and sex of the … package, as they use the word. There’s a code here I can’t make out. ‘O.U.F.M.’ Don’t know what the fuck that means, but I been trying to figure it out.”

Mallen remembered another code he couldn’t figure out. That code had two of those letters in it, and was also something to do with Jessie. His gut told him that it was very important to figure that one out. Very important. “No idea where the package was taken?”

Here Gregor smiled. “There IS a sort of location. There were initials, buried under some half-ass attempt to bury the original code under a newer one. And a bad newer one at that. Seems like the guy who received the original code tried to be slick. Was a dick, not slick.” He glanced down at the page again. Checked it against some notes he’d made. “This is a Marin address. Up in the hills by Mount Tam. No name, just an address. It’s the only address that’s mentioned after the stats on a child. You gotta wonder if the boy who owned this was going to try some blackmail on the back side.”

“Yeah … ,” Mallen said. “You gotta wonder.”

“We need to go right out there, man,” Gato said. “Before any more children are taken or hurt, man.”

“I know. I hear ya.” Mallen said. “Mr. Gregor. You pretty sure about that Marin address?”

A nod. Studied the book a bit longer. Smiled as he wrote down another address, saying, “This one seems to be on … well, the other side of the ledger. Can’t understand it all.” Showed it to Mallen. This one was below Market Street. From the high to the low, Mallen thought. Wrote them both down, then turned to Gato. “You up for a drive?”

Gato smiled faintly. “I left the Falcon in Vegas, but I brought another baby. We’re good.”

“Then we’re good,” Mallen replied then turned to Gregor. “I can’t thank you enough for all this. I’m going to owe you a long time.”

“Forget that. Just buy the damn truck already. I could use the money.”